Lamont Palmer

(July 12th,1962 / Maryland)

Knoll


I was a year and a half old when
Two, loud cracks punctured western confidence
Through air; my future head snapped back in grief.

There is no darkness to match the one in view.
Smoke is seen through the lens of habitual
Types of feelings not easily reconciled with

Processions of some one’s fear. There, in
Times of withered summer and early falls,
Fragrances repeat themselves; scents of grass,

And romance nurtured on the peak of a hill.
Each one of us is, at times, slow to move,
Slow to get justice for those who surround us.

Up there. A figure swathed in nothingness.
Can text be recalled and deconstructed
Later? A Moscow man’s ire may be involved.

Submitted: Monday, November 18, 2013
Edited: Sunday, November 24, 2013

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  • Mandolyn ... (7/2/2014 4:46:00 PM)

    the little prince! ! :))
    this write is fantastic. you have talent, sir.
    i love the title and anything that resembles grassy knolls. (Report) Reply

  • Doris Cornago (1/5/2014 4:42:00 PM)

    But do tell me more about this as it relates directly to you:
    Two, loud cracks punctured western confidence
    Through air; my future head snapped back in grief.

    Or give me clues leading to a trail. Thank you. (Report) Reply

  • Doris Cornago (1/5/2014 4:40:00 PM)

    This is very good LP. Your matured historical style places you notches higher above most poets extolling the virtues of a ladylove. I particularly like puzzles especially A figure swathed in nothingness which makes the poem as authoritative and clinical as an NCIS episode. Imagine the feat of aeon compacted in a poem. Thank you for appreciating my own poem, but this is not a payback but a pay forward. Continue dissecting mankind's follies and accomplishments with your poems. Ciao! (Report) Reply

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